


It's True What They Say

by immediateinfatuation



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/F, Gay, Implied Sexual Content, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, anyway, cheroni, choni, hal cooper - Freeform, lesbian shit, penelope blossom is a bitch, their ship name sounds like a pasta dish i stg, this is the new gayest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immediateinfatuation/pseuds/immediateinfatuation
Summary: In which Cheryl realizes that revenge really does taste sweet.





	It's True What They Say

**Author's Note:**

> cheroni is my new otp so i wrote this. 'nuff said.

According to Cheryl Blossom’s bedazzled alarm clock’s cybernated digits, which were as red as her hair was ginger, it was 2:19 A.M., and she was wideawake. 

Her wakefulness was simply a consequence of her mother’s recent, and admittedly unauthorized, profession; something she experienced nightly, like a dream. Recently, dreams had become a rarity to Cheryl, their occurrences as infrequent as a solar eclipse. Her dreams were no longer dreams, but rather, nightmares, incubuses that involved her mother bestriding the adulterous men of Riverdale as if they were racehorses, her attenuated arms slithering across their unclothed torsos, her glistening lips brushing across their every inch. 

Needless to say, she had ceased succumbing to slumber whenever it seduced her. At least, that’s what she tried to do. Every so often slumber would creep up on her, catching her unawares and subjecting her to yet another ephialte in which her mother allowed unfaithful husbands and fathers to devour her body as ravenously as Jughead Jones devoured a cheeseburger from Pop’s.

There wasn’t a single noise-suppressing technique that Cheryl hadn’t tried. She had tried everything, from positioning her pillow against her ears to inserting her earbuds into her ears and amplifying the volume until she was certain that if she amplified it even more her eardrums would burst; the latter of which worked well with the noise-suppressing part but not so well with the sleep part; thus, after an hour or so had elapsed, Cheryl would pause whichever song had been piercingly playing, hurl her earbuds across her bedroom, and coerce herself into overhearing the occasional creaking of her mother’s bed and the equivantely occasional grunts and gasps and moans, all of which were emitted across the hallway, across  _ Cheryl’s  _ hallway, in  _ Cheryl’s  _ home.

Cheryl supposed she deserved this, deserved to have her home transformed into a playpen of prostitution and fornication, deserved the apparent bags underneath her eyes, deserved to have her dreams marred with images of Hal Cooper and other such men fondling the skin of the woman who psychologically abused her and perhaps always would.

Coincidentally, she recalled a conversation she had with Toni the day earlier. They were at Pop’s, as they usually were; although, while ordinarily most people would protest frequenting the same place over and over, Toni did no such thing. Perhaps this was because she appreciated Cheryl’s company so immensely that inconsequential things such as those did not perturb her, or perhaps this was because Toni was all too cognizant of the series of events that were transpiring in the Blossom household as of late. 

Whatever the reason, though, there was no denying the fact that Toni Topaz was, undoubtedly, the only one in Riverdale, and possibly the entire rest of the world as well, who had befriended Cheryl out of empathy instead of fear, who had remained her friend despite her infinite array of imperfections. And although she’d never admit so herself, her camaraderie with Toni was inchmeal remolding her into a considerably nicer person, one who didn’t call a certain beanie-wearing, cheeseburger-eating boy solely to inform him that his ponytailed girlfriend had kissed a certain ginger-haired football player while a certain hooded figure terrorized the town. 

Anyway, at some point during the previous day’s conversation, Cheryl had avowed that she was the one at fault for her mother’s prostitution, that had she never set the Blossom mansion ablaze that fateful evening, Penelope Blossom would still be prosperous, and wouldn’t need to profane herself purely to place food on the table. At this utterance, Toni had ceased chewing her onion rings, eventually swallowing the masticated mush that sat atop her tongue to assure Cheryl that she wasn’t at fault, that her mother just as easily could have chosen a different profession, one that didn’t involve pleasuring Riverdale’s male and middle-aged populace. 

Incidentally, it was precisely during this moment when Cheryl Blossom perceived she loved Toni Topaz. 

She would never inform Toni of this fact, however, for the last time she loved someone--someone besides Jason, of course--her mother had ensured that Cheryl and Heather never see each other again under any circumstances whatsoever, and she had even went so far as to threaten Heather and her parents until at last they left Riverdale, packing their suitcases as hurriedly as if the devil himself was after them, which, as a matter of fact, was oddly accurate, considering Penelope Blossom was practically Satan incarnate. 

But then a thought occurred to Cheryl, a thought that was as audacious as it was instantaneous, a thought that was so... _ Cheryl.  _

The thought itself was comprised of three separate, but equivalently electrifying, parts. Part one: wait for Penelope Blossom to arise, however belated or premature that might be. Part two: summon over a certain pink-haired gang member. And lastly, part three: kiss aforementioned pink-haired gang member right in front of aforementioned prostitute and cognitively abusive mother. It was an infallible plan, if ever there was one, and now was as good a time as any for it to come to fruition.

Ascertained that her mother was just as, if not even more so, restless as she was, Cheryl unlocked her smartphone, her freshly manicured nails clacking against its finger-smudged screen as she typed:  _ U awake? _

Toni answered almost instantaneously, therefore affirming that yes, she was.  _ i am now. what’s up? _

Cheryl wasted no time with responding. After all, it was only a matter of time before her mother would quite literally crawl back into the bed she was impermanently sharing to pleasure Hal Cooper once more.

At least, she assumed that the guttural grunts and moans that emanated from across the hallway belonged to Hal Cooper. He frequented the Blossom residence so often now he was practically an unofficial member of the family, a facet Cheryl felt a profound repugnance towards. 

_ The Plan must commence,  _ Typed Cheryl,  _ Pronto.  _

The plan’s existence was no secret to Toni--she was the one who had encouraged Cheryl to plot a contrivance of revenge against her mother, after all--but what exactly the plan entailed most certainly was. Luckily, though, it wouldn’t remain unbeknownst to Toni that much longer, and this simultaneously enlivened and petrified Cheryl. But as terrified as she was, she knew that what was soon to transpire was ethical. Because if Penelope Blossom could indulge in something most would consider to be contentious, then why couldn’t her daughter?

* * *

 

While Cheryl had been awake, Toni was, too, albeit for another reason entirely. 

She had been restless simply because she was pondering the possibility, and impossibility, of a certain ginger-haired, red-lipstick-wearing rich girl whose surname was a common flower experiencing an analogous affection.

There was no denying the increase in Toni’s heart rate whenever the aforementioned girl crossed her mind, nor was there any denying the way her hands erupted with perspiration whenever the two were a hair’s breadth apart from each other.

Toni was all too aware of what would ensue if she acted upon her urges. The outcome would be a duplication of the incident in which Penelope had discerned that Cheryl and Heather were more than merely friends, and the last thing Toni yearned for was for Cheryl to endure that anguish once again. But Cheryl’s character had changed considerably since then, therefore it was probable that the outcome would, too; but then again, Toni presumed that persuading Penelope Blossom to accept something she opposed so immensely was about as improbable as if Toni’s feelings for Cheryl were to suddenly vanish, thus the likelihood of failure persisted nonetheless. 

But there was no time to dwell on such things, for Cheryl needed her, and now.

Before slithering out of her trailer like the serpent embroidered on the back of her jacket, Toni grabbed a packet of toaster pastries from the pantry, which she tore open with her teeth and inhaled gluttonously on her way to the Blossom residence. The journey lasted about ten minutes, give or take, on motorcycle, and once she arrived she parked her method of transportation behind a SUV she didn’t recognize, the insect-spattered license plate of which simply read “COOP.” 

Opportunely, Cheryl had been anticipating her arrival, for before she could even raise her hand to knock her knuckles against the door, Cheryl opened it for her. Toni practically tumbled inside, tripping over the threshold in the process only to land in Cheryl’s slender arms, which, by the way, intensified her anxiety tenfold. 

“Cheryl, just whom have you let inside our home at this early hour?” Penelope boomed from the kitchen. Upon closer scrutinization, Toni perceived that she was pouring herself a glass of wine that corresponded with the deep crimson of her lips and clad in enticing lingerie and a too-loose robe that dragged across the tile floor as she stepped forth. 

“Why, Toni, of course,” Cheryl answered straightaway, the name rolling off her tongue as innately as if it were her own, “Who else would I let inside so voluntarily?” 

And then, in a fluid motion that was as unforeseen to Toni as it was to Penelope, Cheryl, who was still holding Toni as gingerly as a bird in her hands, smashed her lips, which were not painted with a scarlet lipstick for once but rather, a colorless lip balm that tasted unsurprisingly of cherries, against Toni’s. A thousand emotions flooded through Toni all at once, half of them hopeful, the other five-hundred more discouraging, but she kissed Cheryl back nevertheless, her arms coiling around her tiny waist like a boa constrictor coils its tail around a mouse; her fingers threading through her wavy, russet curls. 

Toni--and Cheryl--wished nothing more than for the moment to persist incessantly, but alas, it ceased abruptly when the wineglass Penelope had been gripping plummeted to the floor and shattered, the beverage seeping through the rug she stood atop like blood.

“Cheryl Marjorie Blossom,” Penelope boomed, her voice reverberating around the room, and the entire rest of the house, for that matter, “I never want you to see that...that  _ Serpent... _ ever again.” 

“No offense, Mother, but I won’t let a  _ prostitute  _ tell me what I can and cannot do,” Retorted Cheryl, not a hint of hesitation in her smooth, nonchalant voice, “Try not to take it too personally.”

Penelope’s mouth opened, closed, then opened and closed again, her furrowed brow making the wrinkles she tried so effortfully to hide all the more obtrusive. Finally, her features softened, although slowly, and she started for the stairs, but not before facing her daughter first.

“This isn’t over,” She warned, “Now, if you two will excuse me, I must get back to work.”

And with that she descended the staircase, her robe flowing behind her like a superhero’s cape, or, in this case, a villain’s, and the instant she was out of sight, Cheryl and Toni erupted with laughter, their noses pressed together and their embrace unbroken.

“I can’t believe your mom refers to her prostitution as ‘work,’” Toni said when their laughter had somewhat subsided, laughter that was soon stifled completely when Cheryl silenced it with another cherry-flavored kiss, one that Toni willingly returned. 

Toni’s mouth parted, and Cheryl perceived that she tasted of imitation strawberries and inordinately saccharine frosting. In simpler terms, she tasted almost  _ sweet. _

“So, it  _ is  _ true what they say,” Mused Cheryl when they parted for much-needed air moments later.

Toni tilted her head to the side like a puppy that had been caught chewing something it shouldn’t have. “What?”

Cheryl smiled. “Revenge really does taste sweet.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> should i write more of these cuties? i think YES.


End file.
